A kiss is just a kiss, right?
by tree979
Summary: SPOILER ALERT FOR SEASON 2 FINALE! When Chance tells Guerrero he kissed Ilsa things get VERY complicated VERY quickly. Brief Chance and Ilsa then Chance and Guerrero Slash. This is a non-fluffy Chance/Guerrero love story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I don't get paid anything.**

**Author's note: I can't seem to get Chance/Guerrero out of my head so here's another another slash fic. HUGE thanks to AtheneBlue for beta-ing this for me. Any mistakes that have crept in have done so after she worked her magic.**

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"So you kissed her," Guerrero said, before taking a sip of the scotch that Chance had passed to him the second he stepped out of the elevator.

"No, Ilsa initiated it," Chance corrected, "she kissed me and I didn't… _not _kiss her back."

Guerrero chuckled. "Dude, you know that's just a really clumsy way of saying you kissed her."

Chance frowned and the look amused his old friend. "I wasn't planning to. Maybe it was just reflex. The default reaction if someone kisses you is to kiss back, right?"

Guerrero shook his head. "It can't have been that unexpected dude. You two have been dancing around the possibility for months."

"Yeah," Chance conceded, "but it was never really serious. She's an attractive woman and attractive women are used to being flirted with. It was familiar ground for her in an unfamiliar situation. Besides, Ilsa isn't over her husband's death yet and I'm so not up for a three-way with his ghost looking on."

"But if she _was _over Marshall…?"

Chance took a generous sip of his own scotch before answering. "I don't know. It would make working for her, with her, complicated."

"Don't over think it dude. You kissed her. You must have wanted to. How was it?"

Chance shrugged. "It was over pretty quickly. We were kissing, then we weren't. I wasn't exactly thinking about it. I wouldn't have kissed her if she hadn't kissed me first. She's not ready to be kissing anyone right now."

Guerrero fixed him with a look that Chance couldn't quite decipher and that made him uneasy. He'd known Guerrero long enough to be able to read him without even thinking about it, and yet here was a totally new expression on his face.

"What?" Chance asked, shifting uncomfortably beneath Guerrero's gaze. _What was that?_ he wondered. _Is he pissed? Is he disappointed? Is he jealous? _Chance couldn't get a clear read on him.

"I'm having a little trouble with getting my head around the fact that your default reaction to being kissed unexpectedly is to kiss back. Someone invades my space like that? They'd get a painful reminder to respect my personal boundaries, dude, not my tongue in their mouth. "

"Yeah, well you have the soul of a psychopath, Guerrero. Most people actually enjoy being kissed. And anyway, there were no tongues involved," Chance said, unsure why he felt he needed to make that clear to Guerrero.

He shrugged, indicating that it didn't really matter if there were tongues involved or not. "You let her kiss you because you wanted to. It's as simple as that."

Chance frowned.

"Oh for fuck sake," Guerrero grumbled as he took the three steps across the office it took him to stand toe to toe with Chance. "Your subconscious knows what you want even if you don't. You kissed back because you wanted to kiss her. If someone was kissing you who you had no interest in kissing back, you just wouldn't. For example…" Guerrero grabbed a handful of the front of Chance's shirt and pulled him forward, planting what was intended to be a chaste, closed mouth kiss on the taller man's lips, but somehow the moment seemed to extend longer than was strictly necessary to prove his point. Chance didn't kiss back but he didn't pull away either and Guerrero felt inexplicably reluctant to break the contact between them. Chance's familiar scent was dizzying at such close proximately and, as intoxicating as it was, it did eventually force him to remember that this was _Chance _he was kissing. But when he did manage to pull away Chance let out a needy little grunt of protest. The noise hit Guerrero like a lightning bolt and knocked the breath from his body as he realised the magnitude of what he'd just done.

_Stupid stupid stupid…. Where the fuck had that come from? And what the fuck was that noise about?_

Guerrero stepped back out of Chance's space and took a slug of his scotch.

"See dude, it's not automatic. You only kiss someone when you want to." He winced as he realised that by that logic, he'd clearly wanted to kiss Chance. "I mean you only kiss someone back if you want to kiss them in the first place."

Chance was just staring at him, wide eyed and confused. Guerrero wished he'd just fucking say something. He'd only been trying to prove a point, but then he was _enjoying _the kiss and when he stopped Chance had made _that noise._ Now he was trying very hard not to think about what _that noise _could mean and what he could do to hear it again.

"Guerrero…" Chance started to say something but it seemed to slip away before he could get the words out and instead he cautiously ran his tongue over his top lip. Guerrero felt his insides twitch as his eyes involuntarily followed the movement.

_This is so not happening. I did not just kiss Chance and I am so not getting off on it…_

His body clearly had ideas of its own though, as the unmistakable rush of blood to his dick was about to make painfully obvious. He downed the rest of his drink and ditched the glass on the nearest flat surface.

"Well, I made my point," he said, deliberately avoiding eye-contact with Chance as he bolted to the elevator.

Chance just stood there watching him leave, thinking: _What the hell just happened?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: A very short chapter but as the first one got such a warm welcome I thought you'd rather not be kept waiting! Thanks again to atheneblue for beta-ing!**

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If Chance had wanted to talk about his feelings, he would have called Winston, not Guerrero, and he thought that went without saying, but apparently not. He'd hoped to drink his way through the bottle of scotch with Guerrero with their usual minimum of conversation about anything remotely to do with their emotions. All he'd been looking for was Guerrero's terse agreement that women in general were crazy, before they settled in to doing some serious drinking. For reasons that totally escaped Chance, Guerrero had instead tried to convince him that he had kissed Ilsa because he wanted to and everything just spiralled out of control from there, until Guerrero grabbed him and kissed him and suddenly Ilsa was forgotten and the whole world receded until all that was left was the feeling of his best friend's lips pressed against his own.

Responding to that kiss would have been every shade of wrong and Chance was relieved that shock had temporarily paralysed him, preventing him from taking Guerrero's face in his hands and kissing him back. Had the kiss lasted any longer Chance would have been unable to suppress the rush of longing that accompanied the re-ignition of a twenty-something year old attraction to his friend and mentor. In the early days of their working relationship Junior had tried to dismiss his feelings for Guerrero as a crush, as hero-worship taken a step too far, but time and familiarity had only served to deepen the attraction. Junior realised that he wasn't just in awe of Guerrero's skills, he was drawn to the man himself and he longed to be the focus of Guerrero's laser-like focus. His fantasies had been dominated by speculation as to what it would feel like to have those strong, skilful hands running over his naked flesh and what it would do to him to hear Guerrero growling his name into his ear as came…

It was an attraction he'd buried a lifetime ago for the sake of self preservation, and because the need for respect and comradeship out-weighing his need for physical affection. As Junior, he'd managed to dampen down that white hot desire for Guerrero to a more tolerable slow burning friendship that had managed to endure and had sustained him through the barren emotional wasteland of working for the Old Man. In his new life as Christopher Chance he thought he'd managed to close the door on his troubling feelings for Guerrero, but that one kiss re-opened what wasn't so much of a door as a floodgate.

Being able to compartmentalise his feelings had been part of his job as an assassin and he had forced himself to lock those feelings for Guerrero away. Life had moved on and his friendship with Guerrero had become something too precious to Chance to be threatened by the remnants of adolescent lust.

But then Guerrero kissed him. Just a simple press of one pair of lips against another's, totally lacking in the heat and passion of the intense tongue-fucking of Junior's fantasies, and yet it was enough to drag those carefully, long suppressed feelings back to the surface and draw a whimper of disappointment from Chance when Guerrero pulled away. A whimper that Guerrero must have heard...

Chance took the bottle of scotch upstairs to his living quarters and flopped down on the couch and Carmine soon joined him, laying his head down on his lap and giving his master a look of soulful sympathy. Chance absentmindedly scratched at Carmine's ears as he flicked through the channels on the TV, pausing every so often to take another sip of whiskey.

How had everything gotten so out of control in such a short space of time? How was he going to deal with Ilsa? How could he make things right with Guerrero?

Questions chased each other around his head until the scotch managed to dull his thinking to the point at which he at last fell in to a shallow, troubled sleep on the sofa.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still own nothing, get paid nothing...**

**Author's note: Big thanks to atheneblue for beta-ing and to you lovely reviewers!**

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When Ilsa announced her return to London, Chance felt a guilty pang of relief. He was very fond of Ilsa and, in some not insignificant ways, was very attracted to her, but he recognised that the potential disaster if they acted on their feelings could easily make his relationship with Maria look tame in comparison. Chance knew he'd never be able to fill a dead man's shoes and Ilsa would never be able to cope with the stress of loving a man who sought out violence and danger not just for a living, but as a way of life. The kindest thing for him to do was to let her go.

The extravagant breakfast spread that Ilsa had laid out for them was the first time he had seen Ilsa since their kiss in her office, and the situation was made more stressful by Guerrero's presence. Chance had to remind himself that Guerrero would rather disembowel himself with a teaspoon than confess to another living soul that he'd kissed him, and that as far as everyone else was concerned the only topic of interest was why Ilsa was leaving, and why Chance hadn't asked her to stay. Ames and Winston shared meaningful looks and Guerrero just plain ignored him as Ilsa raised a toast to the team and made a hasty exit.

"Is that it?" Guerrero asked. "No hugs? She just ups and leaves? Kinda cold if you ask me."

Guerrero slunk out of the room without a backwards glance, and although that was fairly typical behaviour, Chance felt as though he'd been snubbed and that his team mates were bound to notice that the two former assassins had avoided making eye-contact.

Winston wasted no time in telling Chance that Ilsa had wanted him to ask her to stay, and when Chance had pointed out that she had legitimate business in London, Winston responded with a cynical grunt.

"Something you're not saying?" Chance asked.

"No, but there's something you're not saying," Winston replied

Winston's words turned Chance's blood to ice for a second, as he considered the terrible possibility that Winston _knew_, that he'd picked up on the tension between him and Guerrero. A split second later he realised that Winston was still talking about Ilsa but he knew his face must be a picture of guilt.

"You do realise that just because we're men it doesn't mean we can't talk about our feelings?" Winston continued.

"Yes, it does," Chance replied, trying not to think about what talking about his feelings with Guerrero had led to.

Just when it looked like at least one complication was leaving his life, Guerrero had found Marshall's mistress, and naturally the responsibility of racing to the airport to tell Ilsa fell to Chance. The look on Ilsa's face as she stepped off her private jet hit Chance harder than he'd anticipated. She obviously assumed that Chance was there to beg her to stay, to finish what that rum-fuelled kiss had started and there was no easy way to disillusion her.

"Mr Chance, what are you doing here?"

"We found her."

"Found who?"

"Marshall's mistress."

The fact that Ilsa turned away when she heard those words spoke to the depths of her disappointment. Chance felt like a total bastard because, in that moment, Ilsa was more concerned with his motivation to stop her from leaving than she was with her husband's death. He had to actually spell it out to Ilsa that the woman Guerrero had found could reveal the truth about Marshall's killer. He tried to tell her gently but somehow it still felt like he was accusing her of dishonouring Marshall's memory by turning away to get back on the plane.

Chance was grateful that Ilsa declined his offer to drive her back to the office, insisting that she'd prefer her driver to take her. Chance finally had the opportunity to be alone with his thoughts, without Winston's well meaning attempts at matchmaking or Ames vocalising her every thought. The situation with Ilsa was awkward enough to begin with, but now all the old feelings for Guerrero had flooded back with a vengeance, the office was the last place he wanted to be. For a moment he let himself seriously consider running. He could just disappear and leave the whole mess behind him… As tempting as the idea was, he knew that there was no way to run from Guerrero, literally or emotionally. At some point the was going to have to face him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: I really should have flagged this fic for spoilers for the season 2 finale before now. I apologise to anyone who has stumbled upon this fic before seeing it. My bad. I'm not a fan of re-hashing episodes to fit a story line but this chapter brings us more or less to the end of the series now and there will be slash in the not too distant future!**

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They'd been played. Julia was good, CIA good, but the warning signs had been there _- I've been on the run. Moving every ten days. Changing names…_ Guerrero knew that an aid worker would have to be insanely lucky to survive for a year on the run from anyone powerful enough to kill a man like Marshall Pucci and get away with it. Chance's judgment was always clouded when Ilsa was involved, but Guerrero should have known. He'd let the team down, he'd let Chance down, and it was because he was still preoccupied with that stupid kiss.

He'd argued with Chance often enough over the years, so why had needed to prove to Chance that he wanted to kiss Ilsa back so badly that he'd offered himself up for comparison? How could he have thought that kissing Chance, under any circumstances, would not affect their friendship? Guerrero's mind kept winding back to what he'd said to Chance - _Your subconscious knows what you want even if you don't… You only kiss someone when you want to…_

Guerrero told himself that the reason why he'd kissed Chance didn't even matter any more, because if they didn't find a way to deal with this whole CIA mess soon it would mean the end of all of them. It was difficult because every time he looked at Chance he heard that plaintive little noise that his friend had made when Guerrero had broken off the kiss. However much Guerrero tried to push the memory of that kiss from his mind, he was haunted by that sound and its implications, and so when they fled the office, Guerrero fled from Chance too.

Ames had followed him to the Eldo and for a moment he was even a little grateful for the company. As long as she was running her mouth off, he wasn't alone with his thoughts. Unfortunately it soon became apparent that being alone with Ames' thoughts was not going to be plain sailing either. He managed about five minutes in the car with her every thought falling from her mouth like a constantly dripping faucet before he made the decision to turn back to the office.

As he sat in the Eldo listening to the CIA agent instruct his men to seek out the team's weaknesses, he heard something that finally drove the kiss from his thoughts.

_- Wow, we're doing society a favour by putting this freak out of his misery. It says here he has a kid. See? That's what I mean by pressure point._

His son. They were going after his son.

Guerrero had no memory of how he got back into the building or how he'd taken out four of the CIA men. He was acting out of an instinct so pure that he was almost incapable of rational thought. When the foot soldiers had been eliminated leaving only the CIA agent in charge, something deeper kicked in. His loyalty to Chance was the only thing with the power to stay his hand when his instincts screamed at him to destroy anyone and anything that could ever put his son at risk. The life-long imperative to watch his friend's back was too deeply ingrained to ignore, and instead of annihilating the agent on the spot, he put a gun to his head and secured Chance's safety. Only when Chance was safe he could deal with the agent more permanently.

There was something profoundly satisfying about cuffing the CIA agent to the Eldo. He knew the man had seen enough of his file to realise that Guerrero could have been a lot more inventive in his method of dealing with him, and he knew the agent would turn the ignition and detonate the explosives with something approaching gratitude that he'd escaped a gruesome execution. Guerrero could have made his death a prolonged, excruciating experience, so the use of explosives was bordering on merciful. Guerrero's satisfaction came from the knowledge that the agent himself would unwittingly detonate the bomb and the last thing he would do on this earth was remember Guerrero and his son.

"He's my world. You understand? That's my kid."

As he walked away from the flaming debris of the Eldo, Guerrero felt relieved. As a father, he should have shot the son-of-a-bitch back at the office, but in order to help Chance he'd given the agent a few more precious hours of life, and that troubled him. Although the agent was secure in his custody the whole time, he had still delayed neutralising the risk to his son in order to help Chance. Everything always came back to Chance.

* * *

Chance knew the odds that the mission to retrieve the photos from the Lamont Hotel would go according to plan were roughly equal to the odds that Guerrero wouldn't eat Winston's lunch if he left it in the refrigerator. Ilsa didn't exactly crack under pressure, but she did tend to stray from the plan whenever faced with something unexpected. The second that Winston announced over the comms link that Julia was in the building, Chance knew Ilsa would ignore the instruction to get the hell out of the building in favour of confronting her husband's killer.

Climbing the side of the building to reach the rooftop where Ilsa was holding Julia at gunpoint was actually one of the easier challenges Chance had faced over the last few days. It was risky and strenuous, but it was still easier than the conversation he'd had back at the motel room when he'd forced Ilsa to relive her last interactions with Marshall over and over, until he found the clue he needed to lead him to the location of the photographs. Ironically, given his position hanging by his fingertips and precarious toe holds on the side of the hotel, hundreds of feet above street level, the physicality of the task at hand made him feel as though he was finally on solid ground. The situation was as familiar as it was simple: get the client and get the hell out. It didn't matter that the client in question was Ilsa and it didn't matter that there was still intense, unresolved tension between them. Chance was now doing his job, saving the client, and everything else could wait.

Chance knew that Ilsa didn't have it in her to pull the trigger and murder her husband's killer. If they had been in this situation a year earlier, when her grief was still agonisingly raw, it might have been a different matter. In that year Ilsa had grieved for Marshall, and although she still felt his loss as a physical ache every single day, the pain had faded enough that she could move forward with her life. It had faded enough for her to see Chance as much more than an employee or business partner.

It didn't take much to disarm Ilsa, just a few words and Chance's reassuring presence beside her, but disarming Ilsa was never going to be the difficult part. The inevitable arrival of Julia's back-up left Chance with only one option, and, at that moment, he was grateful that it was Ilsa who was his protectee. Only Ilsa would have taken his hand and made the blind leap of faith off that rooftop, putting her life completely in Chance's hands.

Chance had faced the possibility of his own death far too many times to still experience the old cliché of his life flashing before his eyes, but as he hung from the gargoyle on the edge of the hotel roof with Ilsa dangling bellow him, his mind did turn to the things he held most dear. He thought of Katherine and her burnt cookies, and of the simple pleasure of lying sprawled on the couch in his loft with Carmine's head in his lap. He pictured Winston with the disapproving look on his face that warmed Chance with the knowledge that he worried about his wellbeing. But mostly he thought of Guerrero. There was no way he was going anywhere until he made things right with Guerrero…


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: This chapter is going up un-beta-ed. Mainly because I'm just too damn impatient! Please keep the reviews coming, they really help to keep me motivated!**

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Chance knew Guerrero had checked in with Winston, and had been informed that he and Ilsa were safe. Guerrero had said something about being unavailable for the next week or so but he'd hung up before Winston had been able to ask him for details, not that Guerrero was likely to provide them. Tactically, Guerrero's best course of action was to stay as far away from his son as possible, but Chance knew that after a threat from a rogue CIA agent, Guerrero would need to see his son with his own eyes, even if it was just from a distance. It was for this reason that Chance had acquired a van and staked out the house where Guerrero's son lived with the kid's mother.

As he sat waiting for some sign of Guerrero's presence, Chance tried to work out exactly what he was going to say to him. He was torn between laughing the kiss in the office off as a joke between friends and a full-on confession of his feelings towards Guerrero, but he knew he'd have to find some middle ground in order to preserve their friendship. He felt that they both knew the kiss hadn't been entirely meaningless and that had to be acknowledged in some way before they could move past it. There was no logical reason why Guerrero had to kiss him to prove his point about Chance wanting to kiss Ilsa, and if the reason wasn't logical, it made sense that the reason was a more personal one. This theory was supported by the fact that the kiss wasn't exactly hurried, and Chance had sensed a reluctance in Guerrero as he pulled away. Thanks to the involuntary sound that he had made as the kiss ended, Chance knew that he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it either. As awkward as the situation was, they needed to talk about it.

Chance had been watching the house for about an hour when the passenger side door of the van swung open and Guerrero jumped in beside him.

"Drive," Guerrero ordered, slamming the door behind him.

Without a word, Chance turned the key in the ignition and the van pulled away. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Chance drove them out of the suburbs. He knew their destination wasn't important, what Guerrero wanted was to put some distance between them and the house where his ex lived with their son.

"Did you see him?" Chance asked when they had put some distance behind them.

Guerrero nodded.

"That's good," Chance said.

They drove on in silence for several more minutes before Guerrero finally spoke.

"You can drop me off here."

They were only a block away from Drake's bar.

"Don't you think we should talk first?" Chance said, glancing across at Guerrero.

"What's there to talk about? We got the photos, the CIA agent is history, my kid is safe. What's left to discuss?"

"You're kidding right?" Chance asked in disbelief.

"Pull over. Anywhere here is fine."

For a moment Chance considered doing as Guerrero asked and just letting him get out of the van and pretending like the kiss had never happened, but he just couldn't do it. Rather than slowing down to let Guerrero out, he slammed his foot on the gas and took off, weaving through the traffic at a breakneck speed.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Guerrero demanded.

"I'm taking us somewhere where we can talk," Chance replied.

"There's nothing to talk about, dude," Guerrero said, turning away from Chance to stare out of the window.

Chance didn't stop until they reached an underground parking lot with only a handful of cars parked up. It wasn't exactly ideal, but it was at least quiet, and out of the way enough to offer them a certain level of privacy. He cut the engine and stared out of the window at nothing in particular as he struggled to find a way to start the conversation he and Guerrero needed to have.

"So?" Guerrero said. "Talk!"

Chance glared at Guerrero for a second, then got out of the van, taking the keys with him. He knew that Guerrero could easily hotwire the van and take off leaving him there, but his gut feeling was that he wouldn't. Besides, the parking lot was only a little off the beaten track. Even if Guerrero did take off with the van, it wouldn't take Chance that long to walk to the nearest taxi stand.

After about a minute, Guerrero took a deep breath and got out of the van. Chance turned to face him and forced himself to meet his friend's cool-eyed gaze.

"You kissed me." Despite all the ways Chance had considered trying to broach the subject, in the end he just gave up and blurted out those three words before he lost his nerve. Chance thought he might have seen the merest flicker in Guerrero's eyes but it was so quick he may have imagined it. Guerrero stared at him and Chance stared right back.

"I was just proving a point, dude," Guerrero said eventually, successfully keeping any hint of emotion from his voice.

"Proving a point," Chance repeated.

"Yeah."

"What point did you need to prove so badly that you had to kiss me? Because honestly, the whole kissing part was a bit distracting…"

"For fuck's sake, Chance!" Guerrero glared at him for a moment. "Kissing you was a mistake, I know that."

Chance had tried not to let himself hope that the kiss had meant anything to Guerrero, but his words still hit him like a physical blow.

"I'm sick of you and Ilsa avoiding the inevitable," Guerrero went on, apparently oblivious to the fact that Chance was struggling to breathe normally. "You finally fucking kiss her and instead of doing something about it, you come bleating to me! As if I give a fuck…"

Guerrero turned his back on Chance and kicked at an empty soda can at his feet, sending it skittering noisily across the ground. He didn't quite trust himself to meet Chance's eyes at that particular moment.

"If you don't give a fuck, why was it so important to prove your point? Why kiss me?"

"When Ilsa kissed you, you kissed her back because that's what you wanted. When I did it, you didn't. Maybe a practical demonstration wasn't necessary, but I did prove my point, dude."

Chance knew that this was it. This was the moment to tell Guerrero how he really felt.

_I didn't kiss you back because I couldn't believe it was really happening…_

_I didn't kiss you back because I was scared you didn't really want me the way I want you…_

_I didn't kiss you back because I'm an idiot and a coward and I was too scared of losing you to tell you how I feel…_

But Chance didn't say any of those things.

"Well, it proved something," he mumbled with a shrug, wincing inside at the awkwardness and inadequacy of the comment.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Guerrero demanded, turning to face him.

"Maybe you're jealous."

"Of what?"

"You tell me." Chance shrugged.

"Fuck you, Chance."

There was an awkward pause.

"Look," Chance said, "I know you're angry because that agent found out about your kid…"

"Angry? Fucking angry?" Guerrero snarled. "Dude, you have no idea what I'm feeling right now!"

"So tell me!"

"You want to know what I'm feeling? Right now?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, I'm feeling sick to my stomach that my kid was at risk because of Ilsa fucking Pucci! If you'd just have manned up enough to act on how you feel about her, maybe she would have left the whole Julia thing alone!"

"So it's my fault that the CIA went after your kid?" Chance demanded.

"Sure, why not! You could have just dropped it, but instead you had to go chasing after her to tell her that I'd found Marshall's mistress!"

"Well, you were the one who managed to miss that fact that Julia was CIA! How about you take some responsibility for this mess?"

"Yeah, well she fooled you too, dude! You're not exactly perfect either!"

Chance let out a weary sigh and tried to figure out how the conversation had drifted so far from what they needed to talk about. All he'd managed to achieve was to work Guerrero up until he was so angry that any kind of rational conversation was going to be impossible.

"What the fuck are you still doing here anyway, Chance?" Guerrero asked. "Isn't this the part when you're supposed to claim your thank-you-fuck for saving the damsel in distress? Isn't that how it usually works for you? If Ilsa's ever going to put out, now's the time, dude!"

Chance clenched his teeth to stop himself from saying anything he couldn't take back. Guerrero had made it perfectly clear that kissing him was a mistake and nothing more. Guerrero was pretty upfront with things on the rare occasions that he actually talked about his feelings and Chance had no reason to believe today was any different. Chance knew he had to somehow bury his feelings for Guerrero again, the way he had all those years ago when they first started working together. He threw the keys to the van at Guerrero's feet and turned to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Guerrero demanded.

"I'm going to claim my thank-you-fuck," Chance replied, without turning round. "Take the van. I'd rather walk."

Guerrero picked up the keys and watched Chance until he disappeared from view. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Chance that he felt sick to his stomach, but he hadn't been entirely honest about the reason why. He'd always known that sooner or later someone would find out about his son. He'd dealt with the immediate threat and already had a contingency plan in motion that would see the boy and his mother relocated with new identities within a matter of days. What had really turned his stomach was the idea of telling Chance that the memory of that kiss was driving him slowly insane, and the fear that it would mean the end of their friendship if Chance ever knew that he wanted nothing more than to tease _that noise _out of him again with his mouth and his fingers exploring every inch of his body…

He couldn't tell Chance how he felt, he knew that, but why the hell had he goaded Chance into pursuing Ilsa? Maybe if Chance was in a relationship with someone else it would make it easier to accept that they would never be more to each other than friends. Guerrero sighed and climbed back into the van.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: I was good this time. I waited for atheneblue to work her beta-ing magic! Fear not, there are slashy times ahead, but Chance/Guerrero isn't going to happen without a fight! Damn, those boys are stubborn!**

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Despite what he'd said to Guerrero, Chance didn't seek Ilsa out. He knew she was probably at her apartment making preparations for her rescheduled flight to London, but he just couldn't face seeing her right now. He couldn't return to the office either, not without having to run the gauntlet of Winston's matchmaking and Ames' tactless insights into the female flight response when romance was concerned. So he just walked. He had no particular destination in mind and he barely registered his surroundings. He replayed the conversation with Guerrero in the underground parking lot over and over, thinking of the things he didn't say but wished he had, and of all the things he should have said differently. Ultimately, all that mattered was that he'd found out how Guerrero felt about it the whole mess. The kiss was a mistake, nothing more.

Chance could have lived the rest of his life without even considering acting on his attraction to Guerrero, if it hadn't been for that one stupid mistake of a kiss. It was rare for Chance to be attracted to another man, but not unheard of. He had avoided the entanglement of a serious relationship all his life, so he found it easier than most to regard sex as nothing more than a momentary distraction with no significance attached to who he shared his bed with, man or woman. Maria was the only real exception, and even their relationship, if you could call it that, lasted only a matter of weeks. And Katherine Walters… Katherine had been like a blinding flash of light that had momentarily lit his way before he was plunged back into darkness. He would always care very deeply for the woman who had lit up his life in those few days that had torn 'Junior' apart and left Christopher Chance standing in his place, but as much as he cared for her, he knew that, had she lived, he couldn't have lived up to the responsibility of loving her.

Commitment to another human being was something Chance felt ill-equipped to deal with, especially when sex, or god forbid love, had anything to do with it. Guerrero was different from anyone else in his life. He was more than a friend or a comrade, he was the one person who understood him better than he understood himself. The idea of tainting the most important, most enduring relationship he'd ever had with something as fleeting and shallow as sex seemed insane to Chance. Guerrero was too important to Chance for him to be lusting over him, and it was only by keeping that thought firmly in his mind that he'd been able to bury those feelings in the first place.

Chance had to find a way to stop obsessing about Guerrero. He had to consciously will himself not to dwell on Guerrero's small, well muscled frame and what it might feel like to have his body naked beneath him. They'd tended each other's wounds so many times over the years that there wasn't much of Guerrero's body that he hadn't seen or touched at one time or another, and Chance had every scar, every blemish mapped out in his mind's eye. He longed to retrace that mental image again on Guerrero's body, with kisses and caresses, where before there had been only the firm but gentle touch of a friend trying to repair the damage to the body of an injured comrade. He wanted to push his face in to Guerrero's neck and breathe in deep lung-fulls of Guerrero's scent, all earthy and gun-powdery with just a hint of his musky scented deodorant. He yearned to feel the warm wetness of his lips against his own, contrasted with the tantalising scratch of his facial hair against his skin…

Shit, it was getting harder and harder not to think about Guerrero in those terms, and Chance knew he couldn't just switch those thoughts off. He couldn't just keep walking the streets of San Francisco indefinitely either. He found he was walking down a street with an old fashioned diner at the end of the block, and an angry growl from his stomach reminded him that it had been hours since he'd last eaten.

* * *

It was dark when Chance finally returned to the office, and he wasn't surprised to find Winston waiting for him in the gloom. It was a pretty safe bet that Ilsa had already said her goodbyes and left for the airport, so Chance had been expecting a lecture from Winston on his return. Sure enough, Winston had a little something to say about Chance 'forgetting' to be there to say goodbye. It was impossible for Chance to explain to Winston why he'd turned his back on whatever it was between himself and Ilsa, and he knew what little explanation he gave his partner sounded weak and unconvincing.

"I've known you a long time," Winston said, "this is the first time I've seen you scared."

Chance was scared alright, he was terrified of losing Guerrero, but there was no way he could tell Winston that.

"But she's…"

"Yes?" Winston cut in before he could finish.

…_not the person I want to be with, _Chance thought. _She's not Guerrero_. Out loud he said: "She's an impressive woman… What's the point? Someone just ends up getting hurt anyway."

"Don't you have enough scars on you to know that things heal?"

Chance let those words sink in and suddenly he could see that he had two paths laid out in front of him. On the one hand, he could continue to obsess about Guerrero and submit himself to more heartache and rejection that would probably lead to the destruction of their friendship; on the other hand he could take the path that led to Ilsa, an attractive, intelligent woman who cared about him deeply, and maybe even needed him. Being with Guerrero was never going to be more than a fantasy, but Ilsa could offer him something real, maybe even something lasting. Or at least she might have offered him that if he hadn't left it so late.

"It's probably too late." Chance said, sounding tired and defeated. "Her plane's left by now anyway."

Winston seemed to agree with him for a moment, and then, with feigned casualness, he reminded Chance that they were still hooked into the CIA feed.

Chance decided just to stop fighting it. Everyone and everything seemed to be pushing him towards Ilsa, and he cared about her, he really did, so why not give her, give them, a chance? He'd gotten over his feelings for Guerrero once before, he could do it again.

He raced to the airport with Winston green-lighting him all the way. He smiled as he thought of what the look on Ilsa's face would be when he turned up at the last minute again, and how this time he wouldn't be bringing her news about her husband's killer. This time he'd be able to say to her what she wanted to hear. He would ask her to stay.

Chance hoped that once he had Ilsa in his arms, the part of him that was still crying out for Guerrero would be silenced and the agonising longing for his friend would fade away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: This is a slash fic but I needed to give Chance and Ilsa some closure. This is the Chance/Ilsa chapter, so sorry folks, no Guerrero in this bit, but he's not far away and he's still got Chance on his mind. Thanks again atheneblue for beta-ing!**

**BTW my stats are stuck AGAIN so I only know that you guys are reading this if you leave a review. (I had 2 reviews for the last chapter but the stats still say zero hits - grrr!)**

* * *

_- Don't go._

_- Are you asking me to stay, Mr Chance, because the team needs me or…?_

_- Yeah._

Ilsa sank into the seat of her waiting car with a mixture of embarrassment and relief. She allowed herself a brief glance at Chance standing by the aircraft hanger and felt her stomach flip at the sight. He had come for her. He had asked her to stay. Actually he had asked her not to go, and even when she had tried to get a straight answer out of him as to why he wanted her to stay, his reply had been ambiguous. Just when she was about to get all the confirmation of his feelings that she needed, just when he stepped forward and was about to kiss her, Henry had interrupted the moment by asking her where she wanted her bags sent. Suddenly there had been a subtle shift of power, and rather than Chance asking her not to go, it felt as if she was seeking his permission to stay. She blurted out some nonsense about delaying her departure in order to run some errands, but she knew Chance saw straight through her empty excuses. She was staying for him, and she had already made that decision before he even arrived at the hanger.

The journey back to her apartment was infuriatingly slow, as every set of traffic lights seemed to turn red as soon as they approached. The unusually long journey only served to heighten her frustration at the evening's turn of events. Chance had been right there, telling her not to leave and she'd been just a heart beat away from kissing him and letting go of the pride and fear that had made her keep him at a distance. Facing Julia had finally given her the closure she needed over Marshal's death and she knew her husband had loved her too much to want her to spend the rest of her life alone. She could now allow herself to act on her feelings for Chance, but she let one unfortunately timed interruption shatter the intimacy of the moment and her confidence had failed her.

Ilsa forced her mouth into a tight little smile and thanked her driver for carrying her luggage back up to her apartment. As soon as she shut the door behind him, her body sagged with relief that she no longer had to keep up the appearance of being the calm, professional Mrs Pucci. She let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the door, closing her eyes and trying not to think about what an earth she was going to tell Connie about delaying her return to London.

"Ilsa."

Her eyes flew open and her mouth dropped into a surprised little 'o' when she realised that Chance was standing in her apartment with the same slightly amused look that he'd had when she'd left him at the hanger.

"Mr Chance, how did you…?"

Chance smiled and shrugged. "Winston's still hooked into the CIA's feed. He's been helping me beat the traffic tonight."

"So all those red lights on the drive home…?"

"Weren't exactly coincidence, no."

Chance began walking towards her and she tried to take a step back, forgetting that she was already backed up against the door.

"But why are you here? In my apartment?"

Chance took her hands gently in his own.

"Because I've got a promise to keep," he said softly.

"What promise?" she asked.

"On the roof of the hotel. You said 'please don't let me go'."

"And you said…"

"Never."

Chance leaned in and gave her the softest of kisses and Ilsa kissed back, her mind reeling at the tenderness of his touch. Chance pulled back, and Ilsa saw how serious his expression had become.

"This is it, Ilsa," he murmured. "This is me, not letting you go."

She smiled, and they kissed again. This time they both melted into the kiss, and handholding soon gave way to reaching for each other, and Chance pulled Ilsa against him in a embrace that made her heart race. Then it wasn't enough to just kiss and cling to each other, and fingers began plucking at buttons and zippers as they sought to explore each other further, to feel naked flesh pressed against naked flesh.

Somehow they stumbled to Ilsa's bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind them. Ilsa felt as if things were racing far beyond her control, but she surrendered to that feeling as they tumbled on to the bed, accepting that this was where she wanted to be and who she wanted to be with.

Chance's touch was everything she had dreamed it would be, and her body seemed to light up with every kiss and caress. Chance left her lying on the bed for a moment whilst he retrieved a condom from the pocket of his jeans, which had been discarded on the bedroom floor. Ilsa was dimly aware that she ought to say something about the presumption Chance had made by having contraceptives so close to hand, but she was too glad that there was a condom to really object. Chance smiled at her shamelessly as he ripped open the foil and slipped the condom on whilst Ilsa bit her lip and drank in the sight of his naked arousal.

She moaned as Chance slid inside her, and he kissed at her neck as he made long, slow thrusts. Ilsa wrapped her legs around him and dug her fingernails into his back, urging him to move faster and deeper. Chance complied, burying his face in the side of her neck as their movements became faster and more frenzied. Ilsa murmured half-formed words of encouragement until the rising tide of her climax overwhelmed her, leaving her calling out his name in breathless little gasps. Chance soon followed her, letting out a muted groan as he emptied himself inside of her.

Chance carefully collapsed on the bed beside her and discreetly disposed of the used condom in the small trash can beside the bed.

"Thank you," Ilsa sighed, as she cuddled up against Chance. laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

"What for?" he asked, sounding slightly amused.

"For making this easier for me," she replied with a smile. "if you hadn't just turned up like you did… I don't know. I suppose we would have just carried on as before."

Chance sighed. "Well I'm glad you approve of the change."

Maybe Chance was just tired after their exertions, but Ilsa thought she detected a note of sadness in his voice. They lay there for a while and Ilsa tried to decide whether or not to ask him if he was happy, and what she would say or do if the answer was less than a resounding yes. She knew that the attraction between them was very real and, after tonight, she knew that the reality of sleeping with Chance was far superior to her fantasies but… there was something missing. They had connected on a physical level, but it still felt like their was an enormous gulf between them, as if some other, deeper connection had failed to be made.

Just when Ilsa had decided that she would say something, she realised that Chance's breathing had changed, indicating that he was well on his way to being fast asleep. She sighed, knowing that her question would have to wait until morning. Chance shifted slightly and began to snore, so she rolled on to her side and closed her eyes in an attempt to fall asleep.

Ilsa slept badly that night, as her brained worked overtime, trying to pinpoint what was bothering her. She came to understand that it wasn't just the melancholy note to Chance's voice that had unnerved her. She had no regrets for what they had done but it felt more like coming to the end of some unfinished business between them, rather than the beginning of something new. Objectively, there was no way she could deal with the terrible risks Chance took day to day in his job and just the mere fact that she could even look at it objectively was proof that, although she loved him, she didn't love him enough. She had no right to ask him to turn his back on the job that offered him respite from the burden of his past but she couldn't live with it either. She had another life in London waiting for her return and she had hidden from it long enough already.

Ilsa tossed and turned until she finally gave up on sleep altogether around dawn. She slipped quietly from the bed and gathered up her clothes from the night before and stepped quietly into the bathroom. She took her time in the shower, smiling as she thought of Chance coaxing her senses back to life the night before. She dried herself briskly and redressed in yesterday's clothes.

"Morning," Chance smiled sleepily as she emerged from the bathroom. "I guess I didn't give you much time to unpack last night."

"No," Ilsa said. "But perhaps that's not such a bad thing."

Chance's brow wrinkled in confusion and for a second Ilsa wavered. She wished she could just crawl back into bed and into Chance's arms, but she knew if she did she would only be postponing the inevitable and making it harder for both of them in the long run.

"Chance, I…." She took a deep breath and forced herself to continue. "I can't stay. I wish I could but I can't."

"Why?" Chance asked, looking hurt. "After last night… I thought we were going to try and make this work."

"But it can't work, can it?" Ilsa said. "I can't keep running from my old life, from my responsibilities, and you can't turn your back on the people who need your help. I've done nothing but get in your way and messed up from the moment I hired you. I don't fit in your world, Chance."

"You haven't been doing this as long as the rest of us, Ilsa. Give yourself the time to learn how we work."

"Chance, the truth is I don't want to be a part of that world! I don't want the people I care about constantly putting themselves in dangerous situations where they can be shot or stabbed or blown up!"

"It's not always that bad, Ilsa."

"Yes, actually, it is."

Chance reached for his jeans and slipped them on.

"Ilsa, we need to talk about this," he said walking towards her.

"There's no point in talking about it," she said squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin with what she hoped was a look of determination. "We'd just be fooling ourselves."

Chance lifted his hand to her face but she turned away.

"So what was last night?" he asked.

"Last night was…" she hesitated for a second. "Last night was goodbye. And I wouldn't change it for all the world."

She left Chance staring after her as she left the room. By the time he had dressed himself, she was already calling her driver.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Stats have sprung back to life, but reviews are still very much appreciated! Let me know you guys are still alive out there!**

* * *

When Winston entered the building early that morning and found no sign of Chance, he took that as a good sign. It seemed that Chance and Ilsa had finally worked things out, and the thought made Winston grin as he headed to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee. He'd just poured himself a generous mug full and was sitting down to enjoy reading the morning paper in peace, when he heard the arrival of the elevator. That was not a good sign. Guerrero was going to be out of town for at least a week and it was far too early for Ames to put in an appearance, so that only left Chance and Ilsa, and if things had gone according to plan, neither of them would be showing up at the office right now.

Winston's heart sank as Chance walked out of the elevator looking dishevelled and heavy-hearted. He gave Winston a weary nod of acknowledgement and headed up the stairs to his sleeping quarters without a word. Winston watched him go and wondered how in the hell Chance had managed to mess things up. He poured Chance a cup of coffee and took it upstairs with his own. Chance had headed straight for the bathroom and was taking a shower, so Winston sank down into Chance's couch next to Carmine and waited for his friend to emerge.

When Chance stepped out of the bathroom wearing sweatpants and an old, faded t-shirt he accepted the coffee Winston handed him with a mumbled word of thanks and sank down into an armchair. Winston waited to see if Chance would volunteer any information about what exactly happened when he saw Ilsa, but he just sat staring into space, taking the occasional sip of his coffee.

"What happened last night?" Winston asked gently when it became evident that left to his own devices Chance would probably take the details of last night to the grave.

Chance sighed and gave him a look that made it clear that he really wasn't keen on discussing the matter, not now and possibly not ever.

"Don't you look at me like that," Winston said firmly. "I broke god knows how many laws and risked any number of traffic collisions to get you to Ilsa in time, not once but twice! The least you can do is tell me what happened last night!"

"Last night…" Chance placed his mug on the coffee table and hesitated, running his hands through his damp hair. "Last night went according to plan. This morning, not so much."

"So you ….?" Winston asked, with a vaguely suggestive wave of his hands.

Chance nodded.

"Well, what the hell happened this morning?"

"Ilsa told me she couldn't stay."

"Couldn't stay? Why the hell not?"

"Because of what I do. Because of the risks I take. Because she has a life in London waiting for her. Take your pick really."

Winston let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Chance. I shouldn't have pushed you to keep chasing after her. I really believed you guys had a chance at having something special."

"Yeah, me too," Chance said.

* * *

Guerrero spent a couple of days relocating his son and the kid's mother and setting up their new identities. The physical re-location was fairly straightforward, but he chose to spend some time running checks on their new neighbours and his ex-girlfriend's new boss and workmates. Carla had been surprisingly understanding about Guerrero showing up out of the blue and demanding that she abandon her entire life and relocate hundreds of miles away with their son under new identities. She had known from the start that raising Guerrero's son would carry with it certain risks and relocating overnight was just one of them. She didn't have much in the way of family, other than their son, and she always put their child's safety first, so once Guerrero had mentioned that a rogue CIA agent had a file on them, Carla was packing before Guerrero even got to the part where he had dealt with the agent.

Carla took care to familiarise herself with her new identity and her newly fabricated personal history, but after a couple of days of Guerrero still hadn't left and she was growing tired of the way he kept quizzing her on the details. When she discovered that he was running background checks on her new neighbour's gardener's second cousin, she decided enough was enough. She'd let Guerrero hang around for a few days to spend some time with their son and ensure that their new identities were properly established, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

When Carla dumped Guerrero's bag at his feet and told their son to say goodbye to daddy, his heart sunk, but he knew she was right, it was time for him to leave. He held his three-year old boy in fierce embrace, burying his nose in his hair and committing the smell of baby shampoo and cookies to his memory, until his son began to squirm and giggle at his father's beard tickling his neck. Guerrero reluctantly handed his son back to Carla and planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek, before picking up his bag and leaving. He always felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind when he left his son, but from the day Carla had told him she was pregnant, they both knew that the best way to keep his child off his enemies' radar was by maintaining a safe distance. He was still very fond of Carla but they both knew that Guerrero's job made it too dangerous for them to raise their son together and they ended their relationship on good terms.

Guerrero decided to take his time and drive back to San Francisco rather than flying. The few days he had spent with his son had kept his mind occupied as he focussed on making sure there was no way anyone could trace Carla and the boy back to their old life, and by extension, to him. Now they were safe, Guerrero his thoughts drifting back to his own life, to the team, to Chance. He was going to need the time it took to drive back to San Francisco to work out what the hell was going on in his own brain.

Guerrero had never really considered himself to be anything other than heterosexual. He'd had some limited experience with other men in his teenage years, before he was recruited by Joubert. He'd dealt drugs on the New York club scene and there had been times when he had accepted, or even given, payment in kind for his wares, but a lot of the time he'd been so strung out on his own product that his memories of what had happened in the dark corner of a nightclub were sketchy at best. A near-fatal overdose had provided him with a much needed wake-up call and he turned his back on the clubbing scene and he turned his hand to car-theft instead. He was unlucky enough to be caught boosting Joubert's Mercedes one fateful day and fought back against Joubert's men with such fierce tenacity that the man was impressed and offered him a place on his crew on the spot.

Not long after Guerrero began working for the Old Man, one of his men had been caught sucking off the bodyguard of one of Joubert's associates when he was supposed to be guarding the door to the room where the boss was holding a meeting. Joubert had been so angry when he'd stepped into the hallway and seen one of his men in the middle of a sex act with another man that he'd shot both men in the face without warning. His associate had been so embarrassed by his man's conduct that he didn't make an issue out of Joubert's response. After that Guerrero didn't dare even to consider looking at another man. Although he suspected that Joubert's anger had been a result of his employee fooling around on the job, rather than homophobia, Guerrero wasn't going to take that risk for something he felt largely ambivalent about anyway. When Junior joined the crew a couple of years later, he was careful to ignore anything but brotherly feelings for the kid.

Guerrero had come a long way since his drug dealing days and he hadn't had a sexual experience with another man in over twenty years, but kissing Chance had brought back memories that he found difficult to ignore. His body still remembered what it felt like to be with another man even if it was something his mind hadn't focused on for decades. It was all too easy for his subconscious to insert Chance into those memories, and daydream about his friend's lips on his cock and Guerrero's fingers gripping his short blonde hair as he thrust into his willing mouth…

Guerrero made sure to stay at cheap motels when he stopped for the night, but they were never so cheap as to not have pay-per-view channels. Every night he'd watch at least one porno before he went to sleep and found some comfort in the fact that he was still clearly interested in women, but as soon as he drifted off to sleep it wasn't large breasted porn stars he was dreaming of, it was Chance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: Thanks again to atheneblue for beta-ing. I promise that one of these days I will spell 'discreetly' correctly!**

**In response to a well-meant (but frankly disturbing) suggestion from a review involving Celine Dion as a perfect song for this fic, I have to say most emphatically: HELL NO! If warbling divas are your thing, then knock yourself out. They're your ears, abuse them however you like! _My _'perfect song' for this fic is "I Want You to Want Me" by Cheap Trick. It was covered by Letters to Clio as the end of the film "10 Things I Hate About You". The words aren't a perfect fit, but for anyone who doesn't know the song:**

_I want you to want me. _  
_I need you to need me. _  
_I'd love you to love me. _  
_I'm beggin' you to beg me. _

_I want you to want me. _  
_I need you to need me. _  
_I'd love you to love me. _  
_I'll shine up the old brown shoes, put on a brand-new shirt. _  
_I'll get home early from work if you say that you love me. _

_Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'? _  
_Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'? _  
_Feelin' all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin'. _  
_Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'? _

* * *

Winston couldn't help but feel partially responsible for the way Chance was moping round the office. He'd been so sure that with a little bit of a nudge from him, Ilsa and Chance would have been a great couple. There had to be more to it than what little explanation he'd managed to drag out of Chance, but there didn't seem to be much point in pushing it. Ilsa had made her decision and Chance would just have to learn to live with it.

Chance was really starting to worry Winston. He'd seen Chance deal with anger, failure and self-loathing before, but somehow watching him deal with rejection was much, much worse. If pride and common-sense hadn't intervened, Winston might even have called Guerrero to ask his advice on how to handle Chance's dejected mood. However, Guerrero had made it perfectly clear that he was unavailable for the time being and Winston doubted that he would even respond to his calls or messages. Winston would just have to wait it out and hope that when Guerrero did return, he'd have some kind of idea as to what to do about Chance.

* * *

For the third morning running Guerrero awoke in a sweaty mess of twisted bed sheets with Chance's name on his lips and a painfully hard erection demanding his full attention. As if dreaming of Chance all night wasn't bad enough, every morning Guerrero would have to jerk himself off in the shower with the images of Chance naked and moaning his name still fresh in his mind. Jerking off at least provided some physical relief but it also filled him with a deep sense of shame that he was thinking of Chance as he did it, that it was remembering that stupid kiss that always tipped him over the edge to orgasm.

A steady diet of porn and denial obviously wasn't going to solve his problem. Guerrero decided he was going to have to try a different approach if he was ever going to be able to return to the team and look Chance in the eye again. After his shower, Guerrero got out his laptop and did some quick calculations on a route planner. His plan involved taking a detour, but it wouldn't put more then a day or two on his journey to San Francisco. Besides, if it went according to plan he might even be able to ditch the rental car and just fly back after he straightened his head out.

Guerrero picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contact list until he found the number he needed. The place where he was heading wasn't the kind of joint where you could just roll up unannounced. He would need to book an appointment.

* * *

Guerrero was pleasantly surprised to find Lady Heather herself waiting for him in the lobby of what could only be described as a modest mansion. Lady Heather wasn't a member of the aristocracy in any conventional sense of the word, but she was the proprietor of what was arguably the finest brothel in the western world. Several years ago she had enlisted Chance's help to deal with a series of vicious attacks that had been made against her clientele when she first relocated her business from the slightly more tolerant former location of Las Vegas. Lady Heather provided the best female company that money could buy, and Guerrero hoped that spending an evening with one of her girls would be mind-blowing enough to push all his inappropriate day-dreams of Chance from his mind. A night at Lady Heather's was something nobody could forget.

"Guerrero," Lady Heather smiled, extending her hands to draw Guerrero into an embrace. "It has been far too long!"

"Lady H," he replied with a sly smile. "Please tell me that this means you've decided to entertain me personally tonight?"

Lady Heather smiled and shook her head. "Alas, I have put my days of entertaining clients behind me and I cannot make an exception. Not even for you, Guerrero."

Guerrero sighed and made a show of taking a long, appreciative look at her figure. She still looked a good fifteen years younger than what Guerrero knew her true age to be, and her curves were as voluptuous as ever beneath her figure-hugging evening gown. Lady Heather had 'retired' before Guerrero first met her and trying to coax her out of retirement was something of a game between them.

"Don't look so disappointed," she chided him gently, "You know one of my girls will be more than happy to meet your needs. How is Carla by the way? She is sorely missed by her regulars."

The question caught Guerrero slightly off-guard but he was careful not to give anything away. He knew that despite Lady Heather's charming congeniality, her eyes never missed even the most minute detail. Her skill for reading people was part of what made her business so successful.

"Carla and I split up," Guerrero said, deliberately omitting any mention of their son. He was fairly certain that Lady Heather was aware that Carla had left her profession due to the fact she was pregnant with his child, and not because Guerrero was jealous, which was the reason Lady Heather had been given at the time.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she replied. "But of course, not surprised. You would have no reason to be here if you and Carla were still together."

She smiled warmly to smooth over the awkwardness of the moment and indicated that Guerrero should follow her into the bar area. It was room that was designed to put clients at their ease whilst they waited to be escorted to one of the house's many private rooms, with plenty of private candle lit booths that ensured a certain level of anonymity for the waiting clients. The bar area itself was well lit and a handful of extraordinarily attractive women of various ages, body types and ethnicities sat elegantly on bar stools, talking discreetly amongst themselves. They were dressed simply but stylishly in a number of variations on the little-black-dress theme and Guerrero knew this too was to protect the clients privacy. Lady Heather's girls could accommodate pretty much any flavour of kink you cared to name, but it was always kept to the confines of one of the private rooms and no one but the client, the girl and possibly Lady Heather herself ever knew what went on behind closed doors. Guerrero quite liked this approach as it created a relaxed atmosphere of anticipation that could not be achieved with the girls strewn about the place in lingerie that left nothing to the imagination.

Lady Heather led Guerrero to a private booth, and she rang a small silver hand bell to summon a waitress to take his drink order as he sat down. It wasn't one of the girls who responded to the delicate chime of the bell, but a blonde barman who'd had his back to the room when they had walked in. Guerrero's heart seemed to stop dead in his chest as the barman turned around and he saw his face for the first time.

"The resemblance is quite striking isn't it?" Lady Heather asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement as she watched Guerrero's reaction.

Walking across the room towards him was a young blonde man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Chance. _No, not Chance_, Guerrero corrected himself_ It's like looking at Junior_. The barman was only about twenty-five, and as he drew closer to the table Guerrero began noticing subtle differences between the barman and how Chance had looked at that age. His eyes were brown, not blue, and although he was of a similar height and build as Chance had been, his shoulders were not as broad and his chin was just a bit too pointed. The barman didn't move with the confidence bordering on cockiness that Junior used to have and there was no sign of that subtle tension in his body that hinted that violence was only a heartbeat away. The attitude was wrong, but at a glance, he could have passed as Junior, and that was doing uncomfortable things to Guerrero's insides.

Lady Heather chuckled softly as she watched Guerrero stare at the man wide-eyed and speechless.

"Mr Chance made quite the impression when he was working undercover here, and so when I found Paul working for one of my competitors, I encouraged him to consider working for me. I spotted the likeness straight away. I'm afraid he isn't a natural blonde. I persuaded him to colour his hair in order to increase his resemblance to Mr Chance."

Chance had posed as a client in an attempt to draw out the person responsible for the attacks on Lady's Heather's clientele. Guerrero remembered the disappointment amongst Lady Heather's employees when Winston had insisted that Chance's cover would not require him to actually spend any time alone with them. At the time Guerrero had been amused by Winston's concern for Chance's moral wellbeing and rather smug that his concern didn't extend to Guerrero himself.

Guerrero became uncomfortably aware that he was gawping at the blonde man who was waiting politely to take his drink order. As guarded as he'd tried to be around Lady Heather, there was no way she could have missed just how unsettling Guerrero found it to be confronted with a Chance look-alike.

Lady Heather smiled at the barman and ordered Guerrero a bourbon, no ice. It was only when the man nodded and returned to the bar to fetch the drink that Guerrero realised he'd yet to speak.

"Does Chance know you're pimping out his doppelganger?" Guerrero asked, inwardly cursing how uneven his voice sounded.

Lady Heather narrowed her eyes, and her smile dropped from her face when she heard the word 'pimping'.

"You might want to choose your words a little more carefully, Mr Guerrero."

"I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting…" Guerrero shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "I'm trying to get my mind off work at the moment and your barman… surprised me, is all."

"Apology accepted," Lady Heather said, smiling again. "I quite understand. I leave it entirely to you discretion as to whether or not you tell Mr Chance about Paul."

"Is he..? I mean does he…?"

"Oh yes," Lady Heather said, smiling at Paul as he placed Guerrero's drink on the table in front of him, before returning to the bar. "Like I said Mr Chance made quite an impression around here, with the clients and my girls. Having Paul around is the next best thing to having Mr Chance. He is proving incredibly popular."

Guerrero shifted his gaze back from Paul to the women seated at the bar. He knew Lady Heather was still watching him, fascinated by his reaction to seeing Paul.

"Well, he kinda creeps me out a bit," Guerrero said. "Like I said, I'm looking to take my mind off work at the moment, and that includes Chance."

He risked a glance at Lady Heather to see if she was buying it. She met his gaze with a smile and a sympathetic nod.

"Of course, Guerrero. Like most of our clients, you have a very stressful job. It was inconsiderate of me to spring Paul on you like that. I was simply eager to see whether someone who knew Mr Chance as well as you do would see the resemblance. Now my curiosity has been satisfied, I shall stop intruding on your evening. May I enquire whose company you would prefer this evening?"

Guerrero nodded and indicated his choice, a petite brunette with long dark hair, a smooth pale complexion and a delicate plump-lipped smile. In short someone as different from a blonde haired, blue eyed, muscular former assassin as it was possible to get.

"Samantha," Lady Heather said. "A good choice for you, I feel."

Ten minutes later Guerrero was led to a private room on the second floor by an attractive red-head, who unlocked the door and indicated with a polite gesture for Guerrero to enter.

"Where's Samantha?" Guerrero asked.

"If you'd like to make yourself comfortable, sir," the woman said with a reassuring smile, "your companion for the evening will be joining you shortly."

Guerrero looked at her for a moment before shrugging and walking into the room. It was a bedroom much like the one he'd shared with Carla on his previous visits. A four-poster bed dominated the room and along the opposite wall stood several antique wardrobes and cabinets that Guerrero knew contained all sorts of costumes, props, restraints, toys and lubricants. The room was discreet and sumptuous, with its red velvet drapes, deep piled carpet and mock Victorian wallpaper, but Guerrero knew that tucked just out of sight were all the ingredients to play out a wide range of sexual fantasies.

He sat down on the antique chaise-longue that stood by the window and the red-head opened up what turned out to be a drinks cabinet beside him. Without a word, she poured him a bourbon and placed it within easy reach and smiled brightly at him before taking her leave.

Guerrero was familiar with the way things were usually done at Lady Heather's, even if it had been a few years since his last visit. He was a little uneasy with the fact that the red-head had led him to the room instead of Samantha. He was beginning to smell a rat, when there was a discreet knock at the door. Guerrero didn't respond straight away, but when the knock came again, a little louder and more insistent this time, he got up and walked to the door.

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**Additional author's note: Okay, I have 'borrowed' Lady Heather from CSI: Vegas, which would technically make this a crossover fic. As she's only a minor recurring character in CSI, I hope you'll just let this one slide! Needless to say I don't own Human Target or CSI and no copyright infringement is intended etc.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: This chapter is a hot and heavy one, so turn back now if you don't like slash! Thanks again to atheneblue for beta-ing.**

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Guerrero stood with his hand resting on the door handle for a moment. With a sudden flash of insight, he thought of the calculating look Lady Heather had given him when he first saw Paul, and he just knew that it wasn't going to be Samantha standing on the other side of the door. Guerrero wrenched the door open suddenly, startling the blonde barman who had just raised his hand to knock a third time, and turned away from the door, cursing as he reached for phone that stood on the nightstand. He heard the door close behind him as he dialled Lady Heather's number.

"She won't pick up," a voice with just a hint of a Southern accent said behind him. "She told me to give you this."

Guerrero paused, letting the phone on the other end ring, but there was still no answer. Reluctantly, he replaced the handset in it's cradle and turned to face Paul. His resemblance to Junior struck him almost as hard as it did the first time, and Guerrero snatched the envelope that Paul was holding out towards him. He retreated back to the chaise-longue and downed his glass of bourbon before examining the envelope. A single letter 'G' was all that was written on the expensive thick, cream, envelope and Guerrero turned it over and broke the old fashioned wax seal emblazoned with Lady Heather's initials. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a message written in Lady Heather's distinctive cursive handwriting.

_The writer Lawrence Block defined serendipity as looking for something, finding something else, and realizing that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for._

_Lady Heather_

Guerrero closed his eyes and fought the urge to howl with frustration. All he'd wanted to do was to scrub all thoughts of Chance from his mind by fucking some insanely hot woman senseless. He should have known better than to visit Lady Heather for a solution to his problem. She prided herself on allowing people to indulge their wildest sexual fantasies, not helping people to suppress them. Guerrero couldn't have known that she would have a Chance look-alike working for her, but he should have anticipated that she would insist on giving him not what he asked for, but what he really desired.

Guerrero sat with his head in his hands and didn't look up, even as he heard Paul pad softly across the thick piled carpet towards him. He sensed rather than heard him kneel down in front of him, and he was about to threaten the barman with extreme violence if he didn't get the fuck out of his face, when he caught a familiar scent on the air. Guerrero groaned as he realised that Lady Heather had gone so far as to get Paul to wear Chance's brand of cologne. Paul gently gripped Guerrero's wrists and pulled his hands from his face, and when Guerrero refused to open his eyes, he cupped Guerrero's face in his hands and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

Suddenly Guerrero found himself back in the memory of being in the office, kissing Chance, but it bled together with his dreams and fantasies, as well as the reality of Paul's lips and the smell of Chance's cologne. It was all too much, too dream-like, and yet too real. Guerrero found himself responding to Paul fiercely in an open-mouth kiss, his tongue tasting and exploring the younger man's mouth, as his hands reached behind the man's head and grasped at his short blonde hair, gaining just enough purchase to hold Paul's head immobile as he dominated the kiss.

Paul's hands dropped from Guerrero's face and he trailed his fingers lightly down Guerrero's throat before flattening his palms against his chest and smoothing his hands along the length of his well-muscled torso until they rested on his hips. When Guerrero gave a small grunt of approval, Paul slipped his hands beneath Guerrero's shirt and began tugging the underlying t-shirt out of the way until he reached the bare flesh underneath. Soon Paul was running his hands over the skin of Guerrero's chest and abdomen, and when his thumbs lightly grazed his nipples Guerrero finally broke the kiss, cursing softly.

Guerrero opened his eyes and looked at the blonde man kneeling in front of him, his hands still gripping Paul's hair and his lips slightly swollen from kissing. Despite the similarities, Guerrero knew that Paul wasn't really Chance, but it wouldn't take much to let himself pretend, just for tonight, that he was. This wasn't the way he'd planned to deal with his infatuation, but maybe this could work too. Deep down he suspected that all sleeping with Paul would achieve would be to add fuel to the fire, rather than extinguish it, but Paul was so close to what he really wanted that he ignored that thought, and let himself believe that fucking Paul would get Chance out of his system.

He released his hands from Paul's hair and slipped his shirt off. He took off his glasses and set them down on the drinks cabinet beside him, and when he began to lift his t-shirt over his head, he felt Paul's hands join his in pulling the garment free.

"Take off your shirt," Guerrero said in a low, hungry tone.

Paul immediately unbuttoned his crisp white shirt and took it off, letting it drop to the floor behind him. Guerrero slipped two fingers beneath Paul's belt and pulled him forward until the blonde man was kneeling between his legs. Guerrero laced his fingers together behind Paul's neck and pulled him into another deep kiss, and Paul placed his hands flat on Guerrero's chest again, smoothing over his lightly haired chest. When Paul's fingers found his nipples and began teasing them with alternating soft flicks and rough pinches, Guerrero broke the kiss and threw back his head with a small moan. Paul's mouth moved to his neck, gently licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh, whilst his fingers still teased his nipples. Guerrero moved one hand to brace himself against the chaise-longue and used the other to encourage Paul's mouth to move lower down his body.

Guerrero inhaled shaply as Paul's hands slipped down to his hips and his mouth took the place of his fingers, teasing, licking, sucking, one nipple, then the other. Paul slipped off his belt but Guerrero was too distracted by Paul's tongue licking down and across his abdomen until his mouth reached the waist of his jeans to really notice. Suddenly Paul had Guerrero's flies open and was pulling his jeans down from his hips, while his mouth worked against every bit of Guerrero's flesh that was revealed, every inch except his straining erection that twitched with each new sensation.

Guerrero managed to lift himself up slightly off his seat, so that Paul was able to strip him of his jeans entirely, removing his boots and socks in the process. When Guerrero sat back on the chaise-longue completely naked, Paul ran his hands up Guerrero's thighs until he gripped the base of his erection and, with a quick glance up at Guerrero's face, he leaned in and took his cock into his mouth. Guerrero's eyes rolled back and he had to bite his lip to stop himself calling out Chance's name. Paul almost certainly knew that it was his resemblance to the client's friend that had prompted Lady Heather to send him to Guerrero's room, but Guerrero couldn't let himself say Chance's name in front of a prostitute, no matter how talented the man was with his mouth.

After a while, Paul's mouth wasn't enough. Guerrero needed to see him spread naked across the bed. He needed to know if he really was turned on by another man's body. As good as it felt to have someone's lips wrapped around his cock, it was in a way too anonymous. Guerrero pushed Paul away.

"Strip. Get on the bed," he ordered. Guerrero didn't see the point of whispering sweet nothings to the guy, to make it more than it was, and Paul wasn't about to take offence at his blunt instructions.

Paul stood up and stripped the rest of his clothes off, neither taking his time about it nor rushing. He seemed to have picked up on Guerrero's preference not to make a big performance about it, and he kept his movements simple and natural. Guerrero's heart sank a little when he felt a renewed flush of heat, leaving little doubt about whether or not he was really attracted to other men, or at least men who bore a striking resemblance to Chance. As soon as Paul had lain down on the bed, Guerrero got up and stood over him, not touching, just looking at him, taking in the details of the tanned, lightly muscled body lying before him, surprised that Paul was already hard. Guerrero reached down and trailed one finger lightly down Paul's body, from the base of his throat down to his navel, silently noting the differences between Paul and his mental catalogue of memories of Chance's more muscular form. Paul's breath caught in his throat and Guerrero saw he was trying not to squirm and arch his body towards his touch. Guerrero couldn't help smiling as he ran his hands lightly up the inside of Paul's thighs, firmly pushing them apart, making the blonde man moan softly.

Guerrero knelt down on the bed, in the space he'd created between Paul's legs, and ran his hands up his thighs again, this time letting his hands come to rest on Paul's hips. Paul let out a soft murmuring sound as Guerrero's fingers dug into his flesh, his thumbs tracing the ridge of his hips. Paul's cock lay hard, weeping pre-cum against his belly, and when Guerrero slid his right hand down to clasp it and began to rock his hand in a slow steady rhythm, Paul let out a deep moan and began thrusting his hips to meet Guerrero's strokes. Guerrero used his left hand to lightly cup Paul's balls, eliciting another moan from him, before slipping his fingers further back until they were caressing the younger man's ass. When Guerrero started to apply a little more pressure, Paul grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

"We need lube," Paul explained softly, nodding towards the nightstand.

It took a moment for Guerrero to sort through the numerous bottles and tubes to find what he needed, but soon he had a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms laid on the bed next to them. He wasted no time in slicking up his fingers and working them slowly and deeply into Paul's ass while his right hand teased more moans from Paul's lips as he resumed the long slow strokes. He caught Paul's eye and nodded towards the condoms. The younger man understood his meaning, and tore open the packet and put the condom on Guerrero's cock with a practiced ease.

"I need more. Before you fuck me."

Guerrero frowned for a second, not sure what Paul was asking for.

"I need you to finger me some more, to stretch me out," Paul said, and Guerrero was surprised to find the guy was actually blushing.

Guerrero resumed plunging his fingers in Paul's ass until it could accommodate a third finger. Paul gasped and Guerrero kept going until he felt the man's body relax around him. He withdrew his hand and slicked some lube on to his cock. Before he gave himself time for any last doubts to form in his mind, Guerrero was pushing his cock slowly into Paul. He moved cautiously, giving the blonde man's body time to adjust, as he focused on the tight, slick heat surrounding him. Paul used his hands to lift up and support his hips, until Guerrero pushed Paul's legs up on to his shoulders, improving the angle for both of them.

Guerrero moved slowly at first, making short measured thrusts but the scent rising from Paul's skin, Chance's scent, was doing something crazy to his brain. Even with Paul beneath him moaning and twitching as he thrusted harder and faster into the blonde man's ass, it wasn't enough. As good as it felt to Guerrero it wasn't enough, even when Paul gasped and came, spurting cum on to their sweat slicked bodies. It was good but it wasn't enough. Finally Guerrero let himself focus on the memory of kissing Chance and the needy little grunt of protest he had made as Guerrero pulled away. Then, and only then, he was able to find his release, groaning Chance's name as he emptied himself into the poor imitation of the man he loved.

* * *

**A/N: Guerrero's confusion between Chance and Junior is deliberate. The fact that Paul looks more like a younger version of Chance (ie Junior) makes the whole attraction to Paul even more chaotic for him. In other words he is fucked up on many levels!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: Not far to go now...**

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The timing of Guerrero's personal epiphany was far from ideal, but as he collapsed beside Paul he knew with a sudden unshakable certainty that he wasn't just infatuated with Chance, he loved him. He was in love with Chance. With the shock of this revelation still reverberating through his mind, Guerrero got dressed, paid up and got out as quickly as his post-orgasmic stupor would allow. He managed to get away without having to face Lady Heather, but he was sure he saw her standing smiling in the doorway as he sped off in his rental car. He wasn't exactly happy about the fact that she knew about his feelings for Chance, and if she was anyone else he would have put a bullet in her head just to be sure that the information didn't fall in to the wrong hands, or any hands for that matter. Lady Heather's discretion, however, was legendary. It wasn't merely a result of good business practice, it was a matter of personal pride. Guerrero suspected that after working in a job where she had seen it all and done it all, Lady Heather probably got off on keeping other people's secrets. Guerrero could trust her, inasmuch as he could ever really trust anyone. Lady Heather was well aware of Guerrero's feelings about keeping his personal life private and she wouldn't have even told Paul his name. Even the note she sent him had only been addressed to 'G'.

Guerrero decided to continue driving the rest of the way back to San Francisco. He needed the time to assimilate what he'd discovered. After a lifetime of trying to avoid any kind of serious relationship with a woman he'd somehow managed to miss the fact that, somewhere along the line, he'd fallen for Chance. Carla had been the closest thing to a relationship he'd ever had, but that was only because she'd gotten pregnant as a result of their fairly casual affair. Due to Carla's line of work, he'd had a contact run a paternity test at a private lab to verify the child was even his, and it was only because of their child that he had any contact with her. As the mother of his child he cared about her, but love had never been part of the equation, and for that he'd always been grateful.

On the long drive home Guerrero gave up on trying to pinpoint when exactly his respect and affection for Chance had turned into something more. Looking back it was easy to see that a lot of his decisions over the years, both personal and professional, had been made with Chance's welfare in mind. He watched over him from the moment Joubert first brought him into the fold and he'd had his back ever since he walked out. There hadn't been a time in years when Guerrero hadn't known exactly where Chance was, even when he pulled an Ace Ventura and hid out in an ashram. Neither of them had ever acknowledged it, but Guerrero's life pretty much revolved around Chance.

He still didn't know why he had kissed Chance. The best he could come up with was that it was his subconscious giving him a wake-up call. He knew Chance and Ilsa had feelings for each other, so maybe, on some unconscious level, he was throwing his hat into the ring before it was too late. Guerrero had been keeping tabs on everyone since he left, so he knew Ilsa had flown back to London a day later than planned, but Chance was still in San Francisco. He'd have to wait until he spoke to Chance to find out what exactly had happened between him and Ilsa. Guerrero knew he was pinning a lot on Chance's non-verbal response to the kiss and the fact that he'd said that he found the kiss distracting, but at the moment it was all he had. The more Guerrero stopped trying to fight the idea that he was attracted to Chance, the easier it was to deal with those feelings. He hoped Chance felt the same way about him, but he wouldn't really know until they both started being honest with each other about that kiss. He just had to trust that if Chance didn't feel the same way, they'd find a way past it and still be friends.

"Are you sure you don't want me to skip it?" Winston asked, for what had to be at least the tenth time. "The guys can manage without me tonight if you want me to stick around.

"Winston, it's fine," Chance insisted. "I don't know why you think I can't be left alone. Ilsa's gone home to London, and yeah I miss her, but you're not going to come in and find me swinging from the light fixtures!"

"It's only a few old buddies from the force getting together to drink a lot of beer and bowl a few frames. It's not even a league night! I doubt they'd even miss me.."

"Winston…"

"In fact, why don't you come along with me, instead of sulking in the dark on your own like freakin' Batman!"

"Winston, as much as I appreciate the offer, I try to avoid hanging out with law enforcement in my free time. I kind of prefer to stay off their radar. And I told you already, I wasn't sulking in the dark, I fell asleep on the sofa and it got dark all on its own! Ames has finally quit bugging me with the phone numbers of every single woman she's ever met, although I suspect she'll be back with a whole fresh batch on Monday morning. I just want to spend the evening playing Xbox and watching badly dubbed kung-fu movies."

"But…"

"And I won't be on my own anyway. I've got Carmine to keep me company. I might even take him out for a walk later."

Winston looked doubtfully at Carmine, who returned his gaze with a droopy-eyed look as he flopped to the floor at Chance's feet.

"The only way that mutt is going for a walk is if you carry him," Winston muttered.

"Just go and hang out with your buddies," Chance sighed with exasperation. "I'll be fine."

Winston still looked far from happy about leaving Chance with only Carmine to keep him company but he could see that he wasn't going to change his mind. With a final reminder to make sure he remembered to eat something, and Chance's assurance that he would, Winston finally left.

"It would have been a whole lot easier to get rid of him if you'd just have let on that you're back, Guerrero," Chance called up the stairs. "What's with all the sneaking about?"

"I just didn't feel like explaining to Winston why I've been ducking his calls," Guerrero replied, stepping out from the shadows.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note: Here's the chapter you've all been waiting for. I hope it doesn't disappoint! At the time of posting, this is the last chapter. I planned to write a short epilogue but it's turning out to be a little longer than planned, so I may post it separately as a oneshot. **

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"If it's really taken you this long to relocate Carla and the kid, you're seriously losing your touch, Guerrero," Chance said as he climbed the stairs.

"I wasn't exactly rushing, dude," Guerrero replied. "I wanted the job done right, not fast. Plus, I kinda took the scenic route home."

Chance thought he saw a look of mild amusement on his friend's face, a if he was enjoying a private joke at his expense.

"So I guess now you have nothing more important to do, you decided to have a good sneak around my loft." Chance cringed at how petulant it sounded.

Guerrero laughed and wandered into Chance's lounge, where there was a stack of Bruce Lee DVDs waiting by the TV.

"Seriously dude?" Guerrero said as Chance followed him into the lounge. "You really think you've got anything hidden around here that I don't already know about?"

"No," Chance sighed. "I guess not."

There was a awkward pause while Guerrero started looking through the pile of kung-fu DVDs and Chance tried to figure out what to do next.

"You weren't kidding about the movie marathon then," Guerrero said. "Although I'm sure Bruce Lee isn't in this one." Chance blushed as Guerrero held up a blank DVD case. He knew Guerrero didn't even have to open the box to know it was porn, but he hoped that he hadn't had the opportunity to check out its contents whilst he had been getting rid of Winston. It was one thing for Guerrero to know about his porn stash, but it was painfully awkward, given the current circumstances between them, for him to know that he had been planning to watch gay porn.

"Cut the crap, Guerrero. Are we going to talk about what happened before you left or not?"

Guerrero sighed. "No, we're not going to talk about it."

Chance walked over and took the blank case from Guerrero's hands, dropping it back on to the pile with the rest.

"Don't you think we should?" Chance asked. They were standing so close together now that Chance could smell Guerrero's familiar scent, and he could feel the subtle disturbance in the air caused by his breathing. It was distracting, and Chance was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but Guerrero's lips.

Guerrero looked at Chance for a moment, then, without warning he slipped a hand behind Chance's head and pulled him in towards him and kissed him. This time Chance only froze for a split second before he started kissing back, and when he ran his tongue along Guerrero's lips, his friend moaned as they deepened the kiss into a hungry chaos of lips and tongue that left them both struggling for breath.

When they finally came up for air, Chance could see the silent questions in Guerrero's eyes.

_- Are you okay with this? Are we cool?_

Chance grinned at him and wrapped his arms around Guerrero's waist and pulled him in close, trying to put his answer to those unasked questions into a kiss that would let him know how much he wanted this. Guerrero upped the ante by grinding himself against Chance, and Chance responded by sliding his hands down to cup Guerrero's ass and crushing their bodies in such a way that neither man could ignore just how aroused they both were. Guerrero moaned into the kiss at the sensation of feeling Chance's hardness pressed against his body, and Chance began to push him, making him move back one step at a time, herding him towards the bedroom. As soon as Guerrero caught on to what Chance was doing, he unbuttoned his shirt and Chance peeled it off along with his undershirt, letting them drop to the floor as his hands began to explore Guerrero's bare chest.

Just the simple touch of Chance's hands moving against his skin was more intense than anything he had anticipated, and Guerrero began clawing at Chance's t-shirt in a way that made it clear to Chance that if the offending garment was not removed immediately, Guerrero was likely to rip it from his body by force. Chance reluctantly broke off the kiss long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head, and Guerrero took advantage of the moment when Chance still had both arms raised to lean in and take one of his exposed nipples into his mouth and lightly graze it with his teeth. Distracted by Guerrero's mouth on one nipple and his fingers pinching and pulling at the other, Chance moaned as he struggled to pull himself free from the t-shirt. When he finally mustered up the necessary co-ordination, he threw the t-shirt to the floor and shoved Guerrero backwards on to the bed. Guerrero grinned at the sight of Chance standing over him, bare-chested, flustered and with a hard-on straining the fabric of his jeans.

Chance removed Guerrero's boots and toed off his own sneakers before joining him on the bed. He lay down beside Guerrero and pulled him close for another kiss, and Guerrero responded by kissing him back with a fierce intensity that made Chance's mind spin and his body ache. Guerrero ran his hand down Chance's back, over the curve of his ass and down to the back of his thigh before dragging Chance's leg across his own, until they were in a position that allowed them to rub against each other through the fabric of their jeans. Chance began kissing along Guerrero's jaw, but when Guerrero suddenly shifted against him in a particular way, he moaned and bit down hard on Guerrero's neck, making him gasp and drag his nails against Chance's back. Chance moaned into Guerrero's neck and kissed the area where a bruise was already starting to form, as his hands began working Guerrero's belt open.

Chance had unbuttoned Guerrero's jeans and was sliding his hand inside when Guerrero suddenly moaned the word 'stop'. Chance gave a disappointed little grunt and stopped kissing his neck, although he left his hand exactly where it was, with his palm pressed against Guerrero's cock.

"I need to tell you something," Guerrero murmured in a hoarse, breathless voice.

"Now?" Chance asked in disbelief. "_Now _you want to talk?"

"Not really," Guerrero smiled, "but I need you to know this isn't about getting off."

"Really?" Chance smiled gently, grinding his palm against Guerrero's cock, making him groan softly.

"Okay, it's not _just _about getting off," Guerrero conceded. "I want you, Chance. But I want every part of you. No holding back. I need… It's all or nothing, dude."

It suddenly hit Chance just what Guerrero was asking and just what it had cost him to admit that he needed more from Chance than just sex. Guerrero had never admitted that he ever needed anyone before, and yet he was lying half-naked in Chance's bed asking for more than Chance had ever given anyone. What surprised Chance was that he didn't have a single doubt in his mind about giving Guerrero what he needed, what they both wanted.

Chance leaned in and kissed Guerrero gently before staring into Guerrero's eyes.

"Guerrero, I couldn't give you less than everything if I tried."

Chance barely had time to register the smile on Guerrero's face before he was pulled into another hot, demanding kiss.

They made short work of removing the rest of their clothes, and Guerrero tossed his glasses on to the nightstand. Soon they were naked and entwined on the bed, grinding against each other and touching and tasting every part of each other they could reach. Guerrero rolled Chance on to his back and pinned his hips to the bed with his hands as he left a trail of licks and bites across his abdomen that made Chance gasp and twitch. When Guerrero licked up the length of Chance's erection, Chance moaned and buried his hands in Guerrero's hair. Guerrero let out a low chuckle at Chance's appreciative response and began teasing little licks at the swollen head of Chance's cock, smiling at the way Chance tried to thrust towards him. Chance let out a little whimper when the pressure from Guerrero's hands on his hips prevented him from doing so and Guerrero groaned when he heard _that noise _again, the noise that had haunted his dreams and fantasies since the first time he had kissed Chance. He swiped his tongue across the very tip of Chance's cock, lapping up the sticky, salty mess of pre-cum, before taking in as much of his length as he could.

Guerrero strained to hear every single gasp, moan and half-formed word that fell from Chance's mouth as he sucked and licked at him, learning what technique provoked the loudest response or made Chance try to arch of the bed beneath him. He had known he would find the noises Chance made a turn-on, but he was totally unprepared for how good Chance would taste, and how the feeling of his cock sliding into his mouth would make his own dick ache in sympathy.

Guerrero was only dimly aware that Chance had been calling out his name, so it came as a shock when he suddenly leaned down and pushed him away.

"Guerrero, stop!" Chance panted. "I'm gonna come right now if you don't fucking slow down!"

Guerrero smiled when he realised that Chance wasn't just telling him to stop as payback for him making him hit the breaks earlier. Guerrero shifted his position until he was straddling Chance's legs, and when he leaned forward and kissed him his cock brushed lightly against Chance's, causing him to make _that noise _again.

"Fuck! You really don't know the meaning of the words 'slow down' do you?" Chance muttered as Guerrero guided his hand towards his cock.

"And this is news how exactly?" Guerrero moaned as Chance's hand began to work back and forth in an achingly slow rhythm. When Guerrero started to thrust into Chance's hand in an attempt to control and speed up the rhythm, Chance moved his hand away and rolled them over so Guerrero lay beneath him scowling and frustrated.

"I've waited too long for this to rush it, Guerrero," Chance smiled. "So you might as well get used to the idea that I'm going to take my time."

"Well, if you put it like that…" Guerrero murmured as Chance began biting and licking at his neck is a way that made it difficult to catch his breath. He knew Chance was right. This was far too important to both of them.

Chance ran his hands slowly over Guerrero's chest as he kissed along the angular ridges of his collar bone. Every so often he would carefully trace the slightly silver line of an old scar on Guerrero's chest with his fingertips, and there was an intimacy in that touch that came from the knowledge that Chance remembered every single injury that Guerrero had sustained over the years they'd worked together. Guerrero had felt lust and passion plenty of times before, but nothing he'd experienced before compared to the tenderness and intimacy he felt at Chance's hands simply touching him. It was unexpected and terrifying, but Guerrero felt as if his sanity and his life depended on the way Chance was touching him. He felt that if Chance stopped, he would simply cease to exist.

Chance shifted his hands down to grip Guerrero's hips, and began to lick along the scars on Guerrero's chest. Guerrero's mind was still reeling from the touch of Chance's fingers on his damaged, discoloured skin, but Chance's tongue seemed to tear him wide open, leaving him more vulnerable and exposed than he ever thought possible. He realised that, despite the fear and the vulnerability, he was okay with it, because it was _Chance _that was stripping away his defences and exposing that part of himself that he kept locked away. There was nothing he could hide from Chance. There was nothing about himself that Chance didn't already know and accept.

When Chance's lips brushed against his cock, Guerrero took a deep shuddering breath, and Chance knew that, as badly as he wanted to take Guerrero's cock in his mouth, he would have to wait. Guerrero was too damn close already. Instead he grazed his teeth along Guerrero's hip whilst running his hands along the outside of his thighs, as he waited for Guerrero to come back from the brink. Just as Guerrero's breathing settled into a more controlled rhythm, Chance felt him press something into his hand. It was a small bottle of lube, and Chance had been so caught up with memorising the long, lean, lines of Guerrero's thighs that he didn't even see where the bottle had come from.

Chance looked up at Guerrero and saw the look of raw need on his face. When he'd realised what Guerrero had put in his hand, he'd been about to ask him if he was sure this was what he wanted, but when he saw the look in Guerrero's eyes, he saw everything he needed to know. Chance flipped the lid open and poured the lube on to his fingers, making sure they had a generous coating. With one hand he worked Guerrero's cock with the same slow, measured stroke that had frustrated him earlier, and with the fingers slick with lube, he gently ran his fingertips over the puckered ring of muscle of Guerrero's ass. He applied just a little pressure and with a small moan from Guerrero, Chance's finger slid inside him. It didn't take long for Chance to find that sweet spot inside him that had Guerrero moaning and clawing at the sheets.

"Are you okay?" Chance asked, fascinated by the way Guerrero reacted to even the slightest movement of his finger.

"Fuck!" Guerrero gasped. "Just keep doing what you're doing now!"

Chance smiled and did as he asked, until he felt that Guerrero was relaxed enough to add another finger. As he worked it carefully inside him, Guerrero let out a deep, guttural moan.

"Shit! Am I hurting you?" Chance asked, worried that he was causing Guerrero pain.

"Yeah, but it's a good hurt," Guerrero said. "Chance, don't you dare fucking stop!"

Chance forced himself to take it even slower, stretching Guerrero carefully and adding more lube every time he saw anything remotely like pain on his lover's face. He took it so slowly that Guerrero had to beg him to add a third finger, which to Chance's surprise, his body accommodated easily.

Chance looked down at Guerrero lying beneath him, looking like he was falling apart at Chance's touch and loving every second of it. He had never seen Guerrero so unguarded and his chest tightened at the thought that he was the one responsible for bringing him to this point.

"I swear to God, Chance, if you don't hurry up and fuck me, I will not be held accountable for my actions!"

Chance grinned as Guerrero's words shocked him out of his revelry. He carefully withdrew his fingers and reached for the pack of condoms he kept in the nightstand. Guerrero moaned and grabbed the condom from Chance's fingers that were still too slick with lube to be able to deal with the foil. He ripped it open with his teeth and carefully rolled the condom on to Chance's cock, before slathering it with lube.

They seemed to simultaneously decide that it had been far too long since they had last tasted each other and their lips collided in a deep kiss before Chance firmly pushed Guerrero back on to the bed. He took a pillow and wedged it beneath Guerrero's hips and carefully aligned his body against Guerrero's. Guerrero reached down and guided Chance's cock to his ass as Chance gradually pushed slowly into him.

When Chance's full length was finally buried inside him, Guerrero wrapped his legs around his waist and Chance rested his forehead against Guerrero's. They lay there for a minute or two, lost in each other until Guerrero finally broke the silence.

"Chance…" he moaned.

"Fuck, I know," Chance murmured. "Just give your body time to adjust."

"No, that's not what I… Why has it taken us so fucking long?"

"I don't know," Chance sighed.

Guerrero shifted slightly beneath him and the small movement sent shock waves through Chance's body.

"Chance.." There was a pleading edge to Guerrero's voice.

Chance slowly pulled away and Guerrero immediately groaned and dug his fingers into Chance's biceps. As he slowly thrust back in they both moaned and Chance tried to focus on Guerrero's fingers digging into his arms instead of the slick, hot, tightness of Guerrero's ass. Chance knew he wasn't going to last long so he made every thrust count, hitting Guerrero's sweet spot almost every time.

"Guerrero," Chance moaned, "I don't know how long I can…"

"No holding back, babe," Guerrero growled. "All or nothing, remember?"

At Guerrero's words Chance stopped struggling to prolong his climax by keeping his thrusts slow and measured. He slammed into him harder and faster, and Guerrero moaned and began jerking off to Chance's frantic new rhythm. Chance managed to shift his weight to one side and closed one hand over Guerrero's so they were working their hands together.

"Come for me Guerrero..." Chance said softly, and moments later he did.

Chance managed to hold on for a few more thrusts as Guerrero writhed beneath him, riding out the very end of his orgasm, before his own climax tore through his body like a hurricane, leaving him blissed-out and boneless. He carefully withdrew and rested his head against Guerrero's rapidly rising and falling chest, and collapsed on to the bed beside him as his strength left his body.

Guerrero ran his hand over Chance's hair, and scratched at the short hair at the back of Chance's head affectionately. Chance hummed his appreciation as he listened to Guerrero's heartbeat slow back to a more normal rhythm.

"Guerrero?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you really just call me babe?"

Guerrero cringed as he remembered that he had. "Sorry, it just kind of… slipped out. It was a heat of the moment thing.

Chance laughed and propped himself up on his elbows so he could fully appreciate Guerrero's embarrassment.

"Why 'babe'?"

Guerrero was suddenly aware that there was a small pool of his own cum rapidly drying on his stomach and decided he'd better find something to clean it up with. He tried to sit up but Chance pulled him back on to the bed, determined to get an answer.

"Why 'babe'?" Chance repeated.

"I don't know," Guerrero sighed, resigning himself to the fact that Chance was probably never going to let him forget it. "It just seemed a little inappropriate to call you 'dude' when you were… doing what you were doing at that particular moment!"

"Babe," Chance said grinning at him. "I guess I could get used to that. But only in private though."

"I'm not exactly into public displays of affection, in case you hadn't noticed."

Chance frowned. "No, I think the more private we keep this, the better."

They lay in silence for a moment, imagining how the rest of the team would react to the idea of them being more than friends and colleagues. In theory they would be supportive, but in practice it would make things awkward and put everyone under unnecessary strain.

"What is _this_?" Guerrero asked eventually, uncertainty clouding his expression.

"_This _is what I've wanted for a very long time, Guerrero, and it is most definitely about more than getting each other off."

Chance felt relieved as he watched the tension drain out of Guerrero's expression, and he pulled Chance towards him and gave him a slow deliberate kiss.

"Well, then this is something I plan on getting used to, babe," Guerrero said. He wasn't sure about using the pet name for Chance. It seemed kind of ridiculous considering their shared history, but when Chance beamed at him with one of his little boy smiles, Guerrero decided that, oddly, it quite suited the former assassin. If calling Chance 'babe' made him light up like that, perhaps that was something else he could get used to as well.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note: I'm posting this un-beta-ed because I'm living dangerously tonight! LOL**

**If you have enjoyed this story please leave me a review to let me know! If leaving a signed review for a slash fic is something you'd rather not do, please feel free to send me a message to let me know what you think. I won't tell anyone you've been reading slash ;)**

* * *

When Guerrero returned, Winston saw an instant improvement in Chance's mood. He wished that he knew how Guerrero had managed to shake Chance out of his depression, but he was too proud to ask. At first he simply accepted the change in Chance as a blessing and tried to leave it at that, but after a few days he started to notice things were a bit, well, odd.

It began with things so subtle that at first Winston was half convinced he was imagining it. The first thing he noticed was the tea. Guerrero had always preferred tea to coffee, and he always prepared his own drinks. Winston was inclined to believe that it was a habit born of paranoia, as there didn't seem to be any reason why anyone couldn't just pour boiling water on a tea bag and have it taste just the same. Whatever the reason, Guerrero always insisted on making his own tea, but then, for no reason Winston could discern, Chance began to bring him cups of tea whenever Guerrero was engrossed in using his laptop. He never heard Guerrero ask for the tea or thank Chance for making it. Chance made the tea and Guerrero drank it, without a single word being spoken.

After he picked up on the tea thing, Winston began to see other small changes in Chance and Guerrero's behaviour. Guerrero was definitely in the office a lot more than usual, and when he was working on his laptop, he always took care to set it up in a spot that gave him a clear view of Chance. When Chance decided to cook a curry, Guerrero decided to work at the kitchen table. When Chance was doing his Tai Chi exercises, Guerrero chose a place to work downstairs that gave him a clear view of the mezzanine floor above. Guerrero wasn't always in the same room as Chance, but there was always a clear line of sight between the two men. Winston had cracked a joke to Chance about Guerrero being his baby-sitter and Chance had just laughed it off. For a few days after that Guerrero seemed content to work in the conference room, but by the end of the week he'd gone back to choosing a location to work based on Chance's whereabouts.

Winston had decided that perhaps Chance had always made Guerrero the occasional cup of tea, and that maybe Guerrero was just keeping a close eye on Chance to make sure he wasn't backsliding into the depression he experienced after Ilsa left. He had to admit that working around someone like Guerrero had made him a much more suspicious person, so maybe he had been trying to make something out of nothing.

Things became a little more strange when Ames got it in to her head that what Chance really needed to get over Ilsa was a blind date with one of her friends. Chance was clearly not interested in hooking up with the woman, despite Ames' relentless badgering, but eventually he caved in and agreed to meet her friend for a drink. Having had the misfortune of meeting some of Ames' friends, Winston couldn't exactly blame Chance for his lack of enthusiasm, but what was interesting was Guerrero's reaction to the news of the blind date. He obviously wasn't happy with the idea, but he didn't try and try and talk Chance out of it. Ames raved on and on about what a great time Chance was going to have and how lucky it was that she had managed to get them tickets to the opening of some trendy new bar, and the more she went on about it, the more terse and sarcastic Guerrero became. On the night of the big date itself Guerrero seemed in a much better mood as Chance left for the bar. At first Winston thought nothing of Guerrero making a phone call as soon as Chance left, but when Chance returned half an hour later laughing about there being a bomb scare in the club on opening night, Winston definitely saw Chance give Guerrero a strange look. Ames was devastated that the date had been ruined and kept pestering Chance to reschedule, but somehow it never happened, and eventually Ames had to resign herself to the fact that it never would.

These incidents, and there were plenty more like them, made Winston slightly uneasy, and he wasn't sure why. Chance and Guerrero didn't seem to be up to anything dangerous or destructive, he just had a vague feeling that they were in cahoots over something that Winston was struggling to identify, and that made him nervous. The more he observed their behaviour, the more Winston found it unsettling.

One day, totally out of the blue, Chance announced that Guerrero would be moving in to the spare room in his loft. His explanation for the move seemed a little suspicious to Winston. Chance said that Guerrero had been tracked to his own apartment a few too many times and he needed to lie low for a while. Winston had always been under the impression that Guerrero had more than one place in the city for this very reason, but Chance had insisted that the simplest and safest solution to Guerrero's problem would be for him to temporarily move into the loft.

Eventually Winston saw the pattern in Chance and Guerrero's strange new behaviour. Everything indicated that the two men were closer than ever and were finding excuses to spend more and more time in each other's company. He wondered if Guerrero's sabotage of Chance's date had been the result of jealousy, and if Chance had not only been grateful for his interference, but had actually been relieved. There had to be a logical explanation for Guerrero being so possessive and Chance not only tolerating it but actually enjoying it, but Winston kept coming back to the same impossible conclusion. The idea that Chance and Guerrero were somehow… romantically involved was just to ludicrous to contemplate, and yet that was the conclusion that the evidence kept leading Winston back to. So he did the only thing he could; he turned a blind eye to their strange new dynamic and hoped he was wrong so he never had to write up that particular turn of events in one of his regular reports to Ilsa.

Winston's 'don't ask, don't tell' policy was working just fine until one fateful night that he realised that he had left his reading glasses at the office and he wasn't going to be able to enjoy reading his Sunday morning paper without them. It was past eleven o'clock when he returned to the office, and after he retrieved his reading glasses from his desk, he spotted that someone had left the kitchen light on. With a deep sigh and a few choice words about whoever had forgotten to turn the lights out behind them, Winston walked into the kitchen to correct the oversight. He was about to turn the light out when he realised that someone was in the process of rummaging through the refrigerator. His view was blocked by the refrigerator door, but judging from what little he could see, he guessed that it was Chance. Winston was about to make his presence known when Chance started shouting without looking up.

"I'm telling you, Guerrero, there is no beer left in here! Ames must have swiped it again!"

"It's in there, babe, you're just not looking properly!"

Winston barely had time to register that Guerrero had just called Chance 'babe' before the man himself walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a faded pair of jeans that were hanging dangerously low on his hips without a belt to keep them up. Guerrero barely even glanced at Winston as he walked past him and joined Chance in looking through the refrigerator. Winston's mind was still reeling over the 'babe' remark and the sight of a half naked Guerrero, when he heard a triumphant grunt from behind the refrigerator door.

"See? I told you so! Did you even try and look for it?" Guerrero asked.

"Uh, I guess not…" Chance replied.

Winston's brain was frantically trying to come up with a logical reason that could explain a half-naked Guerrero wandering around the building, but the casual way he had called Chance 'babe' was proving to be a serious stumbling block. When the refrigerator door swung shut revealing not only a half-naked Guerrero but a completely naked Chance, Winston finally had to face the fact that his hunch had been right.

Chance was blushing furiously as he took the six-pack of beer from Guerrero and walked with all the dignity he could muster out of the kitchen, carefully avoid eye-contact with Winston.

Although he'd had his suspicions about the two of them, Winston was totally unprepared to see those suspicions so blatantly confirmed. He stared open-mouthed at the doorway for a moment before the sound of Guerrero laughing made him turn round. Guerrero was still standing by the refrigerator and he had a smug little smile that Winston found almost as alarming as Chance's nudity.

"Seriously, dude. Did no one ever tell you that it's rude to stare?"

Guerrero chuckled and shook his head as he left the kitchen, presumably to follow Chance upstairs, leaving Winston alone in the kitchen wondering how the hell he was going to report this back to Ilsa.

Winston flicked off the kitchen light and headed back to the elevator.

"Ah, the hell with it," he muttered. "What Ilsa doesn't know won't hurt her."


End file.
